For 10 years I have lived in a peaceful apartment on the 2nd floor of a beautiful home in Rochester, NY. (and no, that is not a picture of the house) There were/are occasional inconveniences like the guy who lived down the hall whose girlfriend screamed during sex, (although that was more amusing than inconvenient) the ceiling fan downstairs that makes obnoxious noises in my bedroom, the girl who lived down the hall at one point whose boyfriend was verbally abusive to her and even the police came looking for him once. But even those issues didn't make me REALLY want to move out.All that changed in October 2009.
My landlord decided that the best person to offer a studio apartment right next to a 45 year old, two job working woman is a 19 year street kid who has NEVER lived on his own and whose mother lives only a block away. Hmmm...doesn't it make you wonder WHY she would be kicking him out basically? Not my landlord. He never even did a background check or considered the outcome of this, he let the kid move in 1 day later.
Ever since, the 2nd of floor of this beautiful home has turned into the party, pot-smoking spot for bunches of local city idiots who drop f-bombs at least 5 times in one sentence. Nice, right?
So every night, I smell pot. Every weekend, I hear loud "music" (if you can call it that) until all hours in the morning. I hear people basically YELLING (talking?) to each other across an apartment that can't be more than 9 feet wide.
This is my life now.
Yes, I've complained. MANY times. From Day 1 because the partying began on Day 1. Allegedly, my landlord had a talk with him but nothing changed. I complained again. Nothing changed. And again, AND again, AND again. Until I got sick of complaining.
Why haven't I called the police? Well, being a single woman living on my own who has to walk by the party apartment every morning and every night....there's a little bit of a security issue there. I don't know these people, I don't know what they'd do if I did something. And I don't want to know. And the thing is, i shouldn't have to. My dumb-ass landlord should've known better and should've taken care of it 7 fucking months ago. (there's my one F-bomb)
Recently I had hoped there was a solution on the horizon. A "friend" of mines boyfriend owns a house who a friend and bandmate of his was living in by himself. They offered to let me move in there as a temporary or permanent solution. So not only would I be out of the current place but I'd have a WHOLE HOUSE to live in. Suddenly that option was taken from me. The rug pulled out from under me. I can no longer sit in my apartment, hear the shit going on the other side of the wall and think "It's only temporary, it's only temporary". I'm stuck again.
So now "The Great Apartment Hunt" begins. It started yesterday when I had appointments to see two places; both in really nice villages, in the center of said villages to be exact.
The first was on a 2nd floor above some businesses in the village of Webster. Looked nice on craigslist. I arrived before the agent did to find the landlord arguing with someone. And I heard what sounded like a VERY protective dog. The stairway up to the 2nd floor looked pretty old and somewhat neglected. The railing at the top even had nails coming out of it and moved if you leaned on it.
The hallway was painted green and everything, let's face it, looked cheap. The dog continued to bark and growl the whole time. Two other dudes, who I found out were from Ontario, showed up. (Ontario is basically the red-neck neighbor of the Rochester area) This place seemed more their style. The tenant was out and his brother, who lived down the hall, was the one the landlord was talking to. I guess he wanted him to hold the dog so he could show the place and the guy didn't want to be bothered. After trying numerous keys the landlord discovered that the tenant had changed the deadbolt. (which I THINK is illegal when you're renting). The funniest part was when they tried and describe the place. I also realized, it had no bath tub. BZZZZT! Thanks for playing. So I finally left.
The 2nd apartment was in the middle of the village of Penfield in an old mansion (pictured above) that I passed about a million times when I lived in Penfield with my Mom. I was very excited to see the place. The owner was waiting for me, leaning on his black Escalade. He started telling me about the property and this little house next to it, some guy who's going to cell ice cream on the corner all summer and then we finally went inside. I bet the entrance was nice back in the day. First he knocked on the wrong door and a college-age girl answered, as we tried to keep from stepping on the 20 pairs of shoes laying all over the landing. (red flag) He opened the other apartment and I couldn't believe what I saw. The living room was about as big as my kitchen, the bedroom was about the same (and didn't even have a closet) and the kitchen...was about the size of my pantry. As was the bathroom. I told him right away that I loved the house and the area but I have too much stuff for such a cracker jack box. Not to mention $680+gas and electric? for THAT?!?! Freakin crazy.
Needless to say, Day 1 of TGAH was a bust.
